Disability Didn't Kill My Sex Drive

Disability didn’t kill my sex drive. Honestly, not much ever has. Even a funeral or losing a job never stopped me from finding my way to an orgasm the same day if I wanted one. I never felt like my desire had to disappear just because I’m disabled, so I guess it never did. Looking back, I think that’s because I never accepted the premise. I never believed disability and desire were mutually exclusive. My body changed, sure; some days it hurts. Some days it asks more of me than I’d like to give. But I never internalized the idea that pain meant I was no longer worthy of pleasure, so I kept pursuing it.

For so many disabled folks, though, the world tells a different story. Their environment, their religion, even medical professionals have made them feel ridiculous, or downright delusional, for wanting love, partnership, casual sex, or pleasure. As if disability somehow reduces our desire for connection, intimacy, or touch… that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Every July, Disability Pride Month reminds us to celebrate disabled people exactly as we are, not in spite of our disabilities, but with them. And every July, I notice something missing from the conversation:

We talk about employment, we talk about accessibility, healthcare, discrimination and more… but we almost never talk about sex.

It’s as if the moment someone becomes disabled, society quietly removes them from the conversation about desire and romance altogether. People assume we stop dating, stop flirting, fantasizing, craving touch, or wanting intimacy… and that’s an absolute LIE.

My disabilities never got that memo. Disability has NEVER and will never completely kill my sex drive.

Osteoarthritis didn’t kill it.

Bone spurs didn’t kill it.

Chronic hip pain didn’t kill it.

Anxiety didn’t kill it.

Depression didn’t kill it.

C-PTSD didn’t kill it.

Thyroid surgery didn’t kill it.

I’m still the same person I’ve always been: curious, deeply sensual, kinky, affectionate, playful, and yes… still horny. I’m a sad girl who’s still a horny-ass freak; that’s my truth, and I say it without an ounce of shame. The difference isn’t that I desire less, it’s that sometimes my body asks me to desire differently. The more I’ve lived in this body, the more I’ve realized this isn’t actually about disability during intimacy it’s about collaboration. I believe the best intimacy isn’t the most athletic, the most spontaneous, or the most pornographic, it’s the intimacy that’s the most collaborative.

When I say collaborative intimacy, I mean two people approaching each other’s bodies with curiosity instead of assumptions. It means asking, “What feels good today?” instead of assuming yesterday’s answer still applies. It is adapting without shame, communicating without ego, and understanding that every body, even the healthiest ones, will change over time. Whether that’s because of pregnancy, aging, surgery, chronic illness, grief, mental health, injury, or disability… our bodies are constantly asking us to learn new ways of loving them and experiencing love and intimacy with others. Having disabilities just made me learn that lesson earlier than most.. And honestly? I think disability is one of intimacy’s greatest teachers.